


Imperfect Prologue

by TheoMiller



Series: tinker tailor gardener spy [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coda, Comedy of Errors, Episode Related, Episode: s01e03 Past Prologue, Gen, Tailoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 22:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheoMiller/pseuds/TheoMiller
Summary: It's so easy to exploit a persistent rumor for your own ends. For instance: getting Starfleet to handle the Kohn-ma for Cardassia.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a grammar joke (imperfect tense).
> 
> Garbage Lizard Man Continues to Pretend To Be A Spy, Gets Threatened By Unsavory Klingons; More News @ 11.

Garak carefully walks around behind Bashir in order to unsettle him before introducing himself. He calls attention to the fact that he's a Cardassian on a whim, but he's pretty sure Bashir will think about it later and question the reasons for it.

Bashir is greener than the plant on the table between them, and for some reason he actually opens with accusing him of being a spy. It's _invigorating_. He'd heard of the Human reputation for being straightforward and guileless, but this is something else entirely, this is a terrified young officer challenging him based on a rumor.

He ends it with a little bit of flirtation, and then watches while Bashir runs all the way to the turbolift, presumably to tell Starfleet everything. Humans were alarmingly predictable.

Garak's already checked his official records with Starfleet, including Sisko's note that he'd arrived after the majority of the Cardassians left, and there's no _real_ evidence of his being a spy. His exact words included the phrase "innocent until proven guilty", a curious turn of phrase that apparently referred to Human jurisprudence.

Apparently, one must have a preponderance of evidence to accuse someone of a crime – even when it's obvious – so he can be reasonably certain that Sisko will not pass judgement on the escaped Tahna Los immediately. And Los _is_ bound to be heading for Bajor, and the station is the gatekeeper to their Bajoran space.

Sure enough, he watches the Bajoran ship fly full-tilt at the station from a viewport.

What he doesn't expect is for two Klingons also show up around the same time that Tahna Los does. He'd studied the Klingon language for a time, from a Klingon tutor who keeps in touch. He still receives writs, having intimated that he had been involved in Cardassian law enforcement, and that perhaps he could repay the tutor further by protecting the interests of the Empire? Information is always helpful.

So he recognizes the Klingons, and makes the connection between strange Klingon dissidents and a Kohn-ma fugitive immediately, and naturally points them out to Bashir. Bashir, who approaches him, rather than the other way around. _Curious_. More flirting may be involved—it had seemed to alarm Bashir more than anything else the last time, and Garak finds the good doctor's alarm amusing.

He's a naïve child, easily molded, not especially _challenging_. But he's expressive enough to at least be passably interesting.

And then the Klingons come to his shop. _A fascinating choice_. He's speaking for all of fifteen seconds before he's threatened with his tongue being ripped out. Somehow they too think he's a Cardassian spy—why does everyone seem to know this rumor?—and then he's haggling with Klingon rebels on the bounty for a Bajoran terrorist. At least haggling is a skill he has practice with.

But the whole thing is entirely too reminiscent of a misunderstanding that occurred on Romulus. He'd had a nasty run in with an Andorian smuggler in that case that involved quite a bit of tissue regeneration. Not much pain, thanks to the implant, but his leg had been stiff for weeks, and the medic had asked far too many questions. He's very uncomfortable.

He can only imagine that there's a second con being run parallel to his – a con run by the Kohn-ma (who have increased their number to three), and he cannot afford to be indirect with Bashir now. He seeks him out, at the same table where they'd first met.

"Terrorists?" Bashir repeats. "What are they doing here?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but, _together_ ," that might be just a little too much stress on together, "we might have some success at finding out."

Bashir tries to slip away almost immediately—damn, damn, _damn_ it all to the coldest Hebitian hell—and he has to gamble. "I think it's time for you to take advantage of my shop," he says, tells him when to be there, and then repeats the time, because the boy seems too focused on the _suit_.

And he shows up. Two minutes late. Garak isn't nearly as violent as everyone apparently believes, but in that moment, he's tempted to throttle Bashir.

But Garak manages to focus despite the constant current of fear thrumming through him. And he has reason to be afraid. There's a chance that Bashir—who clearly hasn't the faintest idea how to minimize the excess he presents to the world, from the silent array of facial expressions to the endless noise of his fidgeting—will alert the sisters to his presence, and they will kill Garak instantly, and Bashir not long after. And while he's not exactly concerned with either of those things, if he dies, the puzzle pieces will never fall _just so_ to stop the Kohn-ma. Service to the State still matters, and if it increases his standing back home, well. That's just a bonus.

 _Bilitrium_ , the Klingons say. Oh, he does not like the sound of that. He'd gotten well into advanced science courses during his schooling, which had briefly covered energy sources, which had (equally briefly) gotten him into the section of the library that contained in-depth scientific texts on energy sources. Naturally, he'd found a way to copy every text he could to isolinear rods, and then had imported the data to his personal computer system when he'd bought one for his shop.

He searches the word while he waits for the Klingons to leave, and when Bashir asks, he knows the answer.

An antimatter converter stolen from the Cardassians, a vial of bilitrium bought from the Klingons, and the Kohn-ma could power a warship… or overload the converter and detonate a bomb. Neither is an acceptable option.

And then he considers sending a notice to the Cardassians about where Tahna Los and his compatriots will be. Certainly it will complicate things for Starfleet's capture of the terrorists, but a bit of chaos is good for the soul. And if Cardassia does capture the terrorists before Starfleet—well, he might just curry some favor towards his goal of returning home.

But Cardassians might fire immediately, and start a war with the Federation or the Klingons. _Not ideal_.

Bashir runs off to tell his superiors, and Garak… doesn't. Wait-and-see is hardly his favorite tactic, but in this case, he's reasonably certain that Starfleet will do his work for him.

Why risk launching Cardassia into war? He'd met Danar once, when he came to the household of the elder Dukat, and he knows the man has a temper. Like most members of the Cardassian military, Danar is too impulsive, always aggressive instead of calculating. If war is to be had, it should be on the authority of a better man, a smarter man, than Danar.

It's the best choice. The most sensible, rational choice. He spends most of the night pacing anyway. At the last possible moment, he informed Danar, too late for him to actually engage with the Klingons or the Bajorans, but enough time to get close and spook the Kohn-ma. People make foolish decisions when frightened.

And though he fears he may be developing an ulcer, it turns out he's passably competent at averting disaster when he makes Starfleet do his work for him, because Tahna Los, the other Kohn-ma, and both Klingons are arrested upon returning to the station.

He is so relieved that it feels as if his implant is affecting him the way it used to, with a complete rush of pleasure. And that is when Bashir approaches him for the second time.

"Hello, Garak. Mind if I join you?"

"By _all_ means, doctor, I welcome your company. How did things go with our Klingon friends?"

"I think you already know that."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he lies blatantly, because everyone in Quark's is talking about it, and Garak has come to this loud, crowded hell-hole for the sole purpose of overhearing the outcome of his meddling.

"Listen, Garak, I wanted to thank you. I'm sure you're trained for this stuff, but letting me spy on the Klingons, that could've gone very badly for you if I'd made a mistake, and you helped us immeasurably this week. So. Thank you. I won't forget it."

 _You wanted to_ thank _me?_ "I'm not sure what you think tailors are trained in, doctor, but I assure you, it was my pleasure to be of assistance."

Bashir gave him a loaded look – disbelief with a strange degree of amusement – and then shook his head, still smiling. "Of course, Garak."

"Well, doctor, if you'll excuse me—"

The doctor lifted a hand to stay him. "I was wondering, is all. Did you mean it, about making a new friend? Because, well, I was thinking. If you _are_ interested in making a friend, not just for things like uncovering terrorist plots, I would be interested in some enjoyable company now and again."

 _What_?

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I could do lunch on Tuesday, maybe? At our table in the Replimat?"

Garak smiled. "Would 1300 work for you, doctor?"

And Bashir's face shifted to an earnest, blinding grin.

**Author's Note:**

> "Not mad about his tailor, are you?" - James Bond, From Russia With Love.
> 
> I now have a website with my original stuff over at theneonpineapple.net - saunter over that way if you somehow can't get enough of my keyboard smashing.


End file.
